


Eye of the Beholder

by Estelathan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estelathan/pseuds/Estelathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the other room comes the sounds of running water--the shower starting and Sam knows it's his chance. He drops to his knees on the floor, uncaring of the picture he must certainly make knelt on the dirty floor of a dingy motel room, and begins to pray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the early seasons before the Season 2 finale.

 

 

_It’s not really a habit,_ Sam tells himself as he looks up from his open laptop and the case he’s supposed to be researching to watch the bathroom door close behind his brother with a resounding click. A habit implied something done regularly, and for as much as Sam wanted that to be so, this was something that most certainly wasn’t. No, this was more a secret at best—something kept between himself and the silences of a semi-empty motel room.

 

In the quietness Sam can hear the sounds of shuffling coming from in the bathroom before they're quickly covered up by the sounds of running water—the glorious sounds of the shower starting, and Sam knows it's his chance. All fake pretense of researching goes out the window as he hastily pushes back his chair...and drops down to the floor beside it. One ear cautiously cocked towards the bathroom, because the last thing he needs is Dean coming out and witnessing this, Sam tucks in his long limbs in and bends over into a deep bow, his hair nearly brushing the carpet. _It's more a need,_ he decides as he simply breathes, uncaring of the picture he surely must make kneeling down on the dirty carpet of a dingy motel room, and begins to pray.

 

At first it's the standard verse: " _Our Father who art in heaven..."_ just like Pastor Jim had taught him all those long years ago when he was a kid. The words are quick and reverent, barely making a sound as they leave Sam's lips in well-rehearsed succession and he lets them wash over him like a wave, dragging him into calmer waters. Here he pauses for breath, the last of the Lord’s Prayer heavy on his tongue as he pulls calmness in with every inhale, his frustrations taking flight on the exhale.

 

Inhale. _It will get better, you’ll see._

 

Exhale. _Dean just doesn’t understand, that’s all._

 

Inhale. _You’ll bring him around someday, somehow. Dean isn’t dad._

 

Exhale. Let it all out.

 

When the words begin to tumble from his lips once more the traditional lines are gone, replaced as always by Sam’s fervent pleas. He begs for rest; for release from these terrible nightmares he still hasn’t told Dean about; begs for forgiveness for all the sins he’s committed. He begs for understanding, for a sign, for something anything. There has to be a reason for all this—for Jess’ death, for their mother’s, for the visions and the violence and the deaths—there must be something! Sam’s voice cracks and wobbles, on the edge of tears, yet he soldiers on. He asks for peace, not for himself, but for Dean, for their father… The words slide together as the world blurs and tears escape his tightly closed eyelids because the last thing he needs is Dean to come in and find him sobbing on the carpet like a child.

 

As always it’s a struggle to wind himself back down, to shove the emotions back into their box once again and his hands clinch into fists on either side of his head in utter frustration, all traces of calm gone. It’s not surprising, and that’s the worst part of it all—it’s been happening more and more of late no matter how many times he’s tried to pray for guidance and peace and to Sam it feels like he’s on the edge of exploding. One wrong word, one misstep and **bam!** That’ll be the end of Sam Winchester. The funny thing is Sam doesn’t know anymore whether or not that’d be a good thing or a bad thing.

 

Still, he doesn’t have time for this. Dean won’t be in the shower forever and as much as Sam desperately wants no, _needs,_ to go back after the temporary peace he held but for a few moments, he knows he can’t. It’s with reluctance and the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders once more, that Sam unfurls himself and slowly raises back to standing. He sighs, the sound a lament echoing loudly in the confines of the room and brings a hand up to rub down his face. He breathes in, out, and finally drags his chair back over to sit down. From the other room the sounds of the shower shuts off.

 

A moment later Dean walks out, shirtless and rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He only makes it a few steps before he stops and frowns at Sam. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, his eyes full of concern and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to break right there under that steady gaze. “Yeah,” he insists as he musters up a weak smile from who-knows-where inside him. “I’m fine.” He’s lying through his teeth and probably they both know it, but that’s okay. Call it a habit, a need, a compulsion, or simply faith—whatever it is Sam’s determined to keep looking until he finds it.


End file.
